A Death Deferred
by et-tu-lj
Summary: Death is only the beginning. Not your typical afterlife fic.


**Title: **A Death Deferred

**Summary: **Death is only the beginning.

**Rating/Warnings: **G

**Prompt/Contest: **for fandomfusion (livejournal), prompts: 'slave' and lyric

_Welcome home faithful one_

_We forgive you_

-Blacklisted, Neko Case

**Beta by: **militantstemmed (livejournal)

A/N: In addition to the above prompts, there's also the title's allusion to the Langston Hughes poem, _A Dream Deferred_.

* * *

><p><em>I.<em>

A flash of emerald light, and eternity pulls at him, inexorable and unforgiving. In the space between the beat that is and the beat that never will be, his heart falls silent.

The strain of his soul against stillness is not enough, and he is forced into the next world as unwillingly as the last.

_II._

His eyes open to whiteness, a void waiting to be filled. The air is warm and smells faintly of flowers, and the chiming of bells rides on the breeze.

The corona of light begins to fade and he understands the limits of things in this place. He stands in a verdant clearing, yet the giants of the forest press in at the edges.

"Welcome home, my son."

He turns to the sound, even as the pain begins to ripple up from his toes. She reaches her hand out to him, and pulls him into an embrace.

Heat radiates up from the soles of his feet, and he feels nothing but fire as he is pulled from her arms.

_III._

The trees close around him now. The sound of weeping surrounds him, but he cannot find the source. Only the faintest light filters through the high branches, and there is no sign of the clearing where his mother waits.

He takes one hesitant step, and the crunch of leaves echoes under the vaulted trees. Abruptly, the weeping stops, and he whirls around, searching.

"Mother?"

The forest stretches unbroken as far as he can see. Shadowed and silent. He is alone.

When the pull comes again, there is no one with him when he falls, writhing, to the earth.

_IV._

Dank decay burns in his nostrils. He can see nothing, and he cautiously stretches out his hands in the darkness. He encounters only the rough texture of a tree trunk, slick with rot. Recoiling, he trips and falls, into the putrid filth of the forest floor. The odor gags him, and his cloak is heavy with foul liquid.

"Do not be afraid."

Fear tightens his throat, and he chokes back a cry. Silent, still, he listens for what he cannot see. They are all around him, creeping unseen through the darkness, and he is powerless against them.

"You are forgiven."

When the voice comes again, it is beside him. He scrabbles backwards in the muck, and he can sense it reaching out for him in the darkness. When the magic comes again, twisting his guts into a knot, he throws himself into the sensation, desperate. The wrenching pull is a relief, and he is ripped away before the unseen creatures can seize him.

_V._

Darkness, absolute. The odor of putrescence is gone, and when he reaches out a shaking hand to examine his surroundings, he finds nothing..

Though he listens intently for the rustle of footsteps, there is only silence in this place. He lies back against the cool surface of the barren ground and waits. When life tugs at him again, he is ready. Agony pins him in place, a dagger sharp stab of pain through his chest. But he does not cry out, he surrenders.

_VI._

Spectral lights burn against his eyelids, bright filaments. He opens his eyes, and nothing changes.

The light is diffuse and vague, but he can feel the memory of where he was pressing against the reality of this place. Triumph flows through him and he begins to laugh. The sound reverberates through the air, and the world vibrates in sympathy.

The cold air burns his throat, but his joy cannot be confined.

"I have won."

His voice breaks through the veil, and falling, he returns.

_VII._

The cottage still smolders around him. He can feel the acrid burn of smoke inside him, yet the sensation is wrong. The squalling cry of an infant wavers in the air, and he recoils, reminded of the other weeping.

In an instant, he is rushing backwards, away from the sound. The wind flows around him, and he is a part of it.

And then he understands. His body is gone, consumed, yet he remains. His laughter is the howl of the wind. No longer is he a slave to death.


End file.
